Back to Devon

The suspicion that colour supplements in Sunday newspapers sell an unrealistic and idealised version of country life lurks behind any decision to leave London and settle back in the provinces. Not only are you leaving an absurdly wealthy city state that offers a plethora of cultural and employment opportunities, but the fear is that once made, it is a choice that will inevitably lead to regret.

In blogging my experiences of giving up a career in journalism and taking up farming during possibly the financially least stable periods in the modern history of agriculture, I hope this will be inspirational to some people, or a salutary warning on the folly of trying to find that greener patch of grass. Either way, I hope to prove that a satisfactory life outside of a major conurbation is possible and available to people who aren't already wealthy liberals. 

Devon is a huge and diverse county, but for point of reference, the action takes place in the Haldon range of hills just outside Exeter. The contrast is huge, the very inaccessibility of the steep sided valleys that dominate the approaches to the Teign valley makes development almost impossible on a large scale and has helped to preserve some of the area's natural charm. But, while outwardly little has changed since the Norman invasion, there is a sub-strata of subtle shifts in lifestyle and population that is mirrored in the wider countryside.

To begin with, it is interesting that farming survives in the valley with a surprising resilience that can only be described as astounding Partly it is because the land has little alternative use. It can't be flattened, building new infrastructure is a nightmare and Devonians are a fairly cussed group of rugged individuals anyway. It has always been the case around here that small family farms averaging around 100 acres of land have barely been able to support their occupants. Hill farming in whatever context has always been tough, which is why everyone has a supplementary skill. 

There aren't many small-scale farmers that don't hire out their skills as contractors or builders to the highest bidder and, having had to do this for generations, in a way strengthens the sentimental (with the emphasis on mental) bond to the land. It is true that grazing horses are an increasing feature of the landscape, with pony paddocks and their odd, intrusive fencing marching across the landscape like an invading army, but the essential spirit of small-scale farming seems to permeate the valleys in a way that is strangely comforting.